


The Golden Rule

by Edwardina



Series: The Golden Rule 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Humiliation, PWP, RPF, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-24
Updated: 2008-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen doesn't know what game Jared's playing at all, here, doesn't know the rules -- except one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Golden Rule

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm relatively uneducated about Jared and Jensen and their lives, let alone about how TV show sets function. Similarly, I know almost nothing about Sandy and Danneel, but this fic bends Jensen and Danneel's relationship to its whims, so if any of that bothers you, move on! I really don't want to write about their girlfriends or their breakups; I just love D/s. (This was written in 2008, takes place circa then, and so predates Genevieve.)
> 
> Thanks so much to Lucy for the inspiration and beta!

Wearing it is -- weird. But it's for Jared.

That's what Jensen keeps thinking, all day. While he's sitting in make-up. While he's nervously scuffing his masking tape mark with his boot. While he's belting out Dean's lines. He keeps thinking that everyone on the set knows he's wearing this thing.

He keeps thinking that it's gotta be obvious with the way he stands, the way he pulls in on himself (concentrating, just thinking about it, just flexing his insides ever so slightly to feel it in there). He makes up for it by boisterously chasing after a cute guest star -- who's got a pair of black demon-eye contacts in -- with a video camera.

"What are you doing! I can't see!" she shrieks, bumping into grips and stuff.

"Oh, come on," roars Jensen, and trips over a light cord, making a bunch of the crew laugh at him. He gets a bunch of people helping his sorry, stupid ass up. They're touching him while he's wearing it. God, it's so wrong.

At lunch, Jared sits next to him, boxes of food piled high, and Jensen picks at some chicken, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He can't even begin to try and name why -- just gets stiff all over and tries not to show it, putting on some kind of other person. Some kind of other person who doesn't have a butt plug up his ass and who really loves his girlfriend, and also chicken.

"You gonna eat that?" Jared asks with a big grin. It's as friendly as ever and cuts Jensen to the quick, because Jared _knows_ what he's wearing. It's so hard to hide from him. It's so hard to glance at his face and not want to fall apart and let Jared see him, all broken and wanting.

He doesn't say anything, fishing for an answer that doesn't seem to want to come, just fruitlessly feeling weird, aching.

"Eat it," Jared says simply, like it's a friendly, enthusiastic suggestion, but it's not.

"All right, shut up," Jensen mumbles, and does eat it, and Jared's knee, in its worn but warm denim, knocks against his encouragingly. Jensen elbows him back, but it's not the same kind of jab -- it's just desperate, desperate for a touch. He's just like that now, so... He just wants. And he knows he's not worthy of it, that every time Jared touches him, he doesn't deserve it. A girl like Sandy deserves it.

And it's weird, all of it's just so weird -- doing this for Jared, wearing this thing and loving it in him because Jared wanted it there, likes it there. It's weird, 'cause it's Jared, big ol' Jared who's doing this to him.

 

*

 

The trailers they've got aren't exactly private. People bang on the door every five minutes for whatever reason, and Jared's dogs bound in and out of his when they visit. Jared's door is always open. He invites people in, anyone, everyone.

"Hey, come to my trailer when you're done," Jared had told him, just cool, wide-eyed, like he wanted Jensen to come in and play _Guitar Hero_ with him for a bit while they changed up the set.

They're in each other's trailers all the time, so Jensen has no idea what to expect. But then, he never, ever knows what to expect these days. It could be _Guitar Hero_ or something on YouTube or tossing a tennis ball (half-mauled by Harley) around. He could have gathered some camera guys in there for an impromptu poker game.

"Hey." Jared beams at him when he creeps up the steps and leans in the doorway of the trailer. Jared's is messier than his: a couple of jackets strewn around, dog toys in the corners, an open water bottle. Jared's sprawled out on his couch, legs in a wide-open V, arms spread over the entire length of the back of it. His laptop's open on one knee, but he shuts it immediately and sets it aside. "You got a minute?"

"Yeah," says Jensen. He wouldn't have showed otherwise, right? But he has no words he wants to say to Jared other than _yeah, yes, please._ God, even thinking that fills him with some weird shame. He looks down and rubs his hand over his gelled hair as he comes in.

"Close the door behind you," Jared says.

Oh, God. Okay. Jensen closes the trailer door with a heavy noise, then just sort of stands there. The trailer's not really soundproof, but now it's quieter.

"C'mere."

Friendly. He always sounds like he wants to buy the world a Coke. Jensen slouches over. Jared gives him this weird smile, one Jensen has no idea how to read, and doesn't move at all. He's sprawled out so wide Jensen has nowhere to sit, so he just stands in front of Jared, brow expectant, throat too thick for words.

"You're wearing it, right?" Jared asks then, husky.

God, Jesus, fuck. Jensen shoves his hands in his -- in Dean's -- pockets, shoulders hunching up, and takes a second to get out the answer.

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

Jensen nods forcefully.

"God," Jared breathes, raw.

And of course, of fucking _course_ , before either of them can do or say or even think anything, there's a knock on the door that hasn't even been shut for ten seconds.

 

*

 

That's the only moment Jared brings it up all day -- after the door to Jared's trailer swings open, they both shift out of whatever gear they were in together. Jensen slouches out.

Then they ride home together, or at least, the van drops Jensen off at his place, and as he climbs out of the car with a weary, "See ya!" he can't exactly beg, _Jared, please, God, tell me --_

Something, anything. He doesn't even know what he wants. This thing, wet with lube and sliding and pressing in his ass all day, and now -- 

"See ya," Jared echoes.

Like every other day, Jensen salutes their driver in thanks, somehow survives the epic trip up to his apartment, fumbles around for his keys, comes home to an empty place. It's dark inside, but lighting it up -- and seeing the pair of Manolos Danneel left by the door on her last visit to him -- doesn't make it feel any less empty.

Why didn't Jared fucking say anything else to him? Jensen throws his shoulder against the door to jam it shut, and reaches behind himself to feel at the seat of his jeans. God. He feels it. The base of it, rubbery, rectangular. The pressure makes it slide a little, press in till the base is right up against his hole and it's flattened up against his cheeks, and he can't help it, he just can't. Jensen thinks of it like it's Jared inside him, hates that it feels so good and he's that fucking pathetic.

He's still leaning against his door, concentrating on it and feeling guilty and lame and weird, when his cell rings. He realizes, then, that his brow is furrowed, his eyes shut, his cock half-hard, and that he isn't really sure how long he's been standing there.

He exhales hard as he digs his cell out of his jacket pocket; it's probably his mom, or maybe Danneel, or...

It's Jared.

For a moment, Jensen just stares at the phone in his hand, then as it rings again, he jerks into motion, thumbing the call button and lifting it to his ear.

"Dude, what now? I was just with you five minutes ago," he says, and Jared chuckles.

"Yeah, hey! I missed you too," he replies merrily.

"Dude," repeats Jensen, just kind of dumbfounded. He's pretty damn sure Jared's still in the van; he can hear the road somehow beneath the layers of strange cell phone static. What the fuck is he doing, calling now?

"Yeah," Jared repeats blithely. "How was your day?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Jensen mutters.

"Yeah, I wanna hear all about it! How'd it go? _Good_?"

"Do we really have t--" starts Jensen, and just stops, _stops_ , defeated and embarrassed, because if this is the way Jared wants it, this is the way it's going to be, and he can't do anything about it. He's a slave to it.

"Yeah," says Jared, simply, and kind of lowly, like anyone overhearing him would think he's just absentmindedly moving along a conversation.

God. No. Yes. Why does Jensen want this so bad?

"It was fine," he finally grouses, after a lengthy pause.

"Yeah? Cool. How'd everything go?"

"Man, I hate you," Jensen says. "Mick's like three feet from you right now, isn't he?"

"Yeah. Well, like, five, but who's counting," Jared says, sounding smug. "What were you saying?"

Jensen scrubs his jaw, stubble sandy against his fingertips. Rubs his face, which is too hot, too achy. Finds that it feels better, easier, to close his eyes away from his lifeless living space and just listen to the captured echoes of Jared's breath.

"I wore it," Jensen says, low and painful.

"I know you did," Jared responds, sounding so pleased and enthusiastic that it sort of makes Jensen feel fucking weird, less self-conscious but totally embarrassed, too. Jared's voice when he's happy like that makes him strain after it, wanting that happiness too, wanting to touch Jared and be happy with him, play video games or razz him or just anything. Laugh with him. Lean on him. But he's -- he's scared, too, of something. Jared's voice breaks into the pounding of his thoughts, then: "I'm proud of you."

"Proud?"

He meant for it to sound sarcastic -- _well, thanks, Jared, I can die happy now_ \-- but it just sort of gets caught in his throat.

"'Course," Jared says, big and bright. "So, d'you like it?"

"I dunno," Jensen manages. He's lying. As awkward as it is, as endless as his day just was, he -- yeah. He likes it. But he doesn't want Jared to know that like he knows so much already.

"What about tomorrow?" Jared asks, sounding like he's choosing the words carefully, sidestepping Mick's presence.

"What about it?" Jensen asks nervously.

"You should do it again tomorrow."

"Jared..." starts Jensen, and it, too, comes out stupid, barely a breath out of his tight lungs.

"Hang on, we're pullin' up into my driveway," Jared says. "Don't hang up. Okay? Don't hang up."

There's a muffled noise, then, and he can hear Jared saying a big "G'night, see you tomorrow, thanks, man," to Mick.

Jensen doesn't hang up. He doesn't even move. He's still shouldered up against his door, head resting lightly against it like he's hiding the conversation in the small space between his mouth and the doorway. Danneel's shoes, kind of gold-ish, glint up at him.

Wear the plug again tomorrow. That's what Jared is telling him to do. His brain can barely grasp the idea of another day like today. It isn't even the plug, it's -- Jared, it's Jared knowing he's wearing it, it's the fact that he thinks about Jared in his ass every time he sits down.

"Unlockin'," comes Jared's voice, and Jensen repeats, stupid and pointless, "Jared..."

His dogs are barking and keening high-pitched puppy breaths of joy. Jensen can hear them. They're jumping up on Jared, he just knows it.

And he's just like them.

"Jared, why did you give this to me?" Jensen asks, pained.

"'Cause you're gonna be with me now," Jared says, like it's the easiest thing ever, and adds, "Sadie. Down." Then there's this awful static noise, like Jared's tucking the phone between shoulder and ear, and then he _says it_. "'Cause you're mine."

Against the door, Jensen's head pounds. His heart pounds. His cock pounds, filling his boxer-briefs in an instant and pressing against his jeans. He has no idea, no fucking idea, why it sounds like it does to him and why it makes him act like this, feel like this. Why it sounds so _good_. Never in all the times they hooked up at Jared's house, drunk and sloppy and one-upping each other to the point where they got to full-on fucking, did he think about it like that. Like he belonged to Jared, or Jared belonged to him. If anything, Jared belonged to Sandy, and, well. He belonged somewhere else.

"You're mine, aren't you, Jensen?" Jared asks him, fully relishing his newfound freedom of language.

Jensen takes forever to answer. It's just so hard to say it. He wants Jared to do all the talking. His voice comes out gritty.

"If you want me."

"I want you," replies Jared firmly. "I want you. Say it."

"You want me," repeats Jensen, feeling stupid, sounding stupid, like the words are hollow and have no meaning in his mouth. They mean everything in Jared's and nothing at all in his.

"You got a problem with that?" Jared asks him, suddenly teasing again.

Jensen doesn't even answer that one.

"So, my question," says Jared, and he sounds firm again, like he knows he's going to get an answer to this one, all fucking confident. "You gonna wear your plug for me again tomorrow?" Jensen swallows against a dry throat, but Jared just keeps going. "Before Lucy grabbed us I was gonna make you pull your pants down, show it to me."

"I wore it," Jensen says again. What the fuck, like Jared didn't hear him the other two times he said it?

"I know. You know how I know? 'Cause I know you wouldn't lie to me. You wouldn't do that. Not if you're gonna be mine." Pause. "I just wanna see you wearing it. See it _in_ you."

"Don't fucking talk to me like this," begs Jensen suddenly, but he doesn't know why he says it, because this is what he's been wanting since the moment he slid it, lubed and all, up his fucking ass.

Jared just gives him an annoyingly sweet little laugh. "Dude. It's just me, and you're actin' all shy. Too bad, though, 'cause from now on, you're gonna tell me everything."

Jensen's breath catches against the receiver.

"When I ask a question, you're gonna answer it, even if you're shy. Even if it embarrasses you. You don't get to -- just brush me off, okay. Should I make it a rule? Yeah. It's a rule."

"A rule," Jensen echoes flatly. That seems... not normal.

"Yeah. You don't get to be all shy with me. So, Golden Rule... keeping that in mind... d'you wanna wear it again? Tomorrow?"

It does embarrass him, and does feel shy, feels strung out on some kind of need, unable to get enough, but Jensen says, just barely, "Yeah."

Jared sighs into the phone, sounding relieved. "Good."

"I hate you," Jensen insists.

"Jensen," says Jared, voice leaning heavily, as if he's pressed up behind Jensen right there in the doorway and is pushing him into the wood of the door. God, Jensen wishes he were, and Jared knows it.

There's not a lot of time to catch some shut-eye before their driver's picking them both up again, but it still takes them forever to work around to saying goodbye. Jared goes on and on, even when he's supposedly trying to stop talking. Once, Jensen would've just laughingly hung up on Jared and gotten a text back: _butthead._ Or whatever. The little one or two-word texts Jared likes to send, just so he can have the last word. But now there's this tension, this silence he's not used to feeling around Jared at all.

Then Jared suddenly starts talking about the scene they're gonna be shooting tomorrow -- stuff they usually talk about in the van on the way home -- and the shift into normal conversation is a welcome change, makes Jensen's world slowly expand, makes him realize he's hiding their conversation against his door like a retard.

He takes Jared, on the phone, to his bathroom, where he wrangles out of his shirt, saying stuff like, "If we did it straight, factual, it wouldn't seem so ridiculous... No tears."

"Tears are hard anyway. I don't even think Sam would cry," Jared agrees, and Jensen can hear water running. Jared's probably in his bathroom, too. Sure enough, a second later, Jared is unmistakably brushing his teeth right into Jensen's ear.

"Dude," complains Jensen, but seriously, it's nothing new. Jared spits wetly, _ftoo_ ; Jensen can imagine him hulking over his sink. His master bathroom's pretty nice. He's got double sinks inlaid in a dark marble countertop.

As he climbs out of his jeans, Jensen abruptly feels a pang, realizing Jared's probably, like, feeling kind of lonely or something. Even with his dogs there -- probably right there with him, crowding in the bathroom doorway after him -- Jensen bets the empty, unused space around the other sink is still a harsh reminder that Jared specifically made room for Sandy in his life there.

"Guess I better let you go," Jared laments, sounding put-out.

In front of his big, square bathroom mirror, Jensen catches his own eyes and frowns, looks away quickly. "Well, I'll see you in... five and a half hours."

A big sigh. "Yeah. But hey." He gets all stern. "Don't forget what you said you're gonna do tomorrow."

"Yeah," Jensen grunts uncomfortably. He can see the shape of himself in the mirror out of the corner of his eye, even though he's not even really looking. His posture hitching, his jaw tightening.

"Jensen," sing-songs Jared, "I'm gonna check. Gonna make sure you can do it again."

For a heart-thudding minute, Jensen can't respond, just imagining that -- like in the trailer today, Jared asking him. Jared had said he was going to make Jensen pull his pants down and show him.

Jared finally hangs up on him, probably looking like a smug bastard, and Jensen breathes hard, thumbs at his phone. He could text back anything, just to annoy Jared for getting the last word. _Stupid. Lunatic. Assmunch. Freak._

He just wants to punch in, _OK._

Instead, he puts his phone down, bends over the counter, and presses his face against the cool tile countertop as he digs into the rear of his boxer-briefs, twists and grips his with fingers, and slowly, in a warm slide of lube that wets the seat of his underwear, pops his butt plug out.

 

*

 

Of course, he has to wake up four and a half hours later to put the plug back in again. 

There was no way he was gonna get any sleep at all in that thing; once it was out, he'd dropped it into the sink and he scrubbed at his red face with cold water, unable to keep from noticing its shiny black exterior smooth and wet under the running water. Then he'd tripped into bed, feeling wrung-out, and his alarm had woken him in time to catch a shower. And here he is again, déjà vu, staring at the butt plug.

This stuff -- it's not all that easy to do on his own. It takes him a little while of leaning over his sink, ignoring his own face looking ornery and pink as hell in the mirror, to work it in, just slow and steady. It feels cold, doing it all damp and alone in the dawn, but when it's settled in him and there's that familiar, hinting feeling of fullness, he gets really hot really fast just thinking about Jared seeing it. _In_ him. For real. Jared's gonna look, make sure. See how Jensen's done it for him.

He pulls clothes on without paying any attention, grabs his phone, trips over one of Danneel's stupid shoes on the way out, stiffens weirdly. The butt plug stays put. It was awkward enough, falling right down with it in yesterday, but it's only then that Jensen wonders if Jared's sadistic enough to make him wear it on a day where they're doing lots of stunts and shit. He doesn't actually know, which freaks him out a little bit.

Their driver for morning shoots is a different guy, Gus. "Morning, Jensen," he says.

"Hey," Jensen grunts. He climbs into the backseat carefully, settles oddly, shifts around and leans back to take the pressure off his plug. God, and sighs. His plug.

"Not enough sleep, huh?" asks Gus.

"Nope."

"Catch a bit till Jared's around."

Jensen closes his eyes, but doesn't sleep, the weak morning sun gentle on his skin as it climbs up the horizon. He feels the van halt in front of Jared's place -- feels it right up his ass, just that pressure of his weight shifting with the van stopping, settling into park. _Jared._ He turns his face toward the left, where he know Jared's house is, and breathes in slowly and deliberately. No big deal.

When Jared opens the door and slides into the seat beside him, shower-fresh, Jensen can smell him, and opens an eye to check him out. He's all limber and lopey this morning, just heavier, not as alert and all over everything as he can get, not leaning forward eagerly or talking and talking and talking. He's wearing some thin button-up over a t-shirt, as always, and jeans that are too long even for his Jolly Green Giant legs and that are all raggedy at the bottom from where he's stepped on them. And flip-flops, clutched to his feet by his toes.

Jensen doesn't even know what clothes _he's_ wearing. No clue.

"Mornin'," Jared drawls. He didn't get enough sleep either.

As he fastens his seatbelt, Jared catches him looking, and Jensen quickly turns his face.

"Lines," he mutters, reaching for his script.

 

*

 

Okay, so after six hours on set (one of which Jensen really could've used to catch a nap, but didn't 'cause he... just. He just didn't), six fucking hours of acting normal and managing to remember and lob around emotional lines of dialogue over and over, Jensen's going to snap or something.

He's starting to get pissed off, 'cause Jared's a liar who hasn't even looked at him all day, let alone checked him over, inspected him or whatever. But he's not even pissed off, really, he's just -- he just can't catch a break, can't get anything from him. The guy's just been all involved with the script, involved on his phone, cramming down his massive lunch as he listens to Kim outlining how he wants something to feel, deep in conversation with one of the make-up girls about her rescue dog. Jensen's so close to just reaching out and scrubbing annoyingly at Jared's perfected hair, kicking him under the table, lobbing chunks of food in his face, _something._

Pay attention to me, asshole.

Except he can't. It feels too weird. Usually he doesn't want attention, doesn't need to wait around like one of Jared's dogs to get some from him. So he just sits in his chair, on his plug, busies himself with his own phone. Hangs around on the set watching Kim block the scene and the lighting crew fix wiring. Peeks through the camera guy's lens, focuses on the lava lamp detail of their fugly motel room's wallpaper. Drinks cup after cup of coffee.

Eventually, they're both shuffled back into the van again and driven to a nearby location to film a few scraps in front of a dilapidated building that doesn't play any part in the actual script, but which looks cool and will probably be some kind of creepy in the episode. Then it'll be back to set, a different motel room in a supposedly different town.

"I'm already beat," Jared groans, and then he lets his legs hang open widely and lazily, knee settling on top of Jensen's.

Automatically, Jensen's face gets hot, throbs with the suddenness of it. Under the makeup, it's probably hard to tell, and he sort of freezes, lest Mick see him -- act weird, or something; he doesn't even know. He still doesn't get how it's not glaringly obvious that there's something up with him and Jared, just like he keeps expecting someone to notice how deliberately he's sitting down lately, like someone's going to say, "Butt plug again today?"

"You tired?" Jared asks him, all fucking solicitous now, tilting his face toward Jensen, eyes curious.

Oh, Jesus. He's just fucking with Jensen or something. Getting off on how he knows Jensen's wearing it again, getting off on leaving Jensen to dangle all day. Of course he fucking knows, doesn't even need to ask, doesn't even need to check.

Jensen just sort of chuckles, without humor. "Yeah. You have no idea."

"You're gonna play _Soul Calibur_ with me later, right?" 

"If you actually want to," Jensen says, scratching at his elbow through Dean Winchester's thrust-up sleeves and rolling his eyes out his window, jaw flexing nervously. That's what he thinks it means, isn't it. It's not just Jared -- being a dick.

"Whatever. You're gonna get creamed and you know it," Jared returns cheerily, and Jensen's heart rate shoots through the roof.

 

*

 

They shoot the scene pretty quickly, maybe 'cause now, Jensen's adrenaline is rushing, and he's on, pissed at Sam for not telling him some important demonic plot detail. He just nails it, and Sam glares at him, intensely frustrated. No tears. When they cut, Jared grins and shakes his head.

When they get back to the motel set, it's not quite ready for them yet, and Jared says, "Dude, _Soul Calibur_?"

Jensen gives him a nod, suddenly losing his voice, the ability to know what to say and how to say it. Made of sunshine, Jared just grins at him and turns toward his trailer, and Jensen follows on stupid feet.

"Don't get too into it. We'll be grabbing you for a touch-up in fifteen minutes or so," Lucy calls after them.

He's pretty sure Jared's not being dick who actually wants to play _Soul Calibur_ just to torture him, or just because it's more interesting than another day of Jensen being a freak who's acting all weird about everything. There's still a niggle of weird, abject fear, though, that Jared's just jerking him around. He's pretty into video games, too. 

Hemming and hawing like this, pulling himself apart on the inside -- it just makes Jensen feel pathetic, like when he opens his mouth to tell Danneel that it's not working and then just... doesn't do it. He doesn't know what game Jared's playing at all, here, doesn't know the rules -- except one, the Golden one: he has to answer when he's asked a question.

But Jared doesn't even ask one. As soon as Jensen's up the steps into his trailer, Jared's wide-splayed fingers are pressing the door shut, then grabbing at Dean's open shirt to yank Jensen in. He kisses Jensen all hard and so demanding that Jensen, weak-kneed, stumbles backwards a few steps and bumps into the wall, and Jared just crushes him there. He can vaguely feel his whole body pounding, his ears and face and neck and heart and dick, and Jared's hands are knocking Dean's shirt aside so they can grab at Jensen's sides.

God fucking dammit, holy shit, they're on set, this is -- not getting buzzed from too many beers and jerking off together on Jared's couch to bad porn. This is not feeling each other up on Jared's couch, which would've been a bad enough idea even if they hadn't both had girlfriends when that shit happened. This is not biting his lip and giving in to the heated, shameful desire to let Jared finger him, fuck his ass. This is not secretly wearing something for Jared.

This is too much, too far, they're _on set_ , people bust in constantly, and Jensen's grabbing Jared's face. He tries not to, doesn't want to, but Jared's mouth is opening his up and his tongue, all hot and eager, is swiping wetly along Jensen's, and he can't help it, he just --

He just buries his fingers in Jared's hair, breaking right then and there.

He isn't keeping up very well: he's still trying to kiss Jared when Jared's growling at him all low and lusty, "Remember the Golden Rule? Remember it?"

"Yes," Jensen gasps, his breath right there in Jared's face, they're still so close.

"What are you wearing for me?"

"My plug." It comes out of him voicelessly, not even a whisper, just kind of a shameful thing making its way out of his throat without his consent, without his help.

"I know you are," Jared says, and forcefully grabs at his sides, his back, his ass through his jeans. Jensen's vision starts to grey out; his cock's rubbing on Jared's hip, hard for him right where he can feel it. There's just no way Jensen can hide it, hide any of this. Jared's fingers slide down the seam on the back of Jensen's jeans and clutch at him, press at the crack of his ass until he's found the base of the plug even through the layers of denim and cotton. At Jensen's temple, Jared breathes, "God!"

 _I told you,_ Jensen wants to say, but he's just sort of pinned there, face red, guts feeling the pressure Jared's putting on his plug.

"You really wore it for me, didn't you, Jensen?"

"Yeah -- God," Jensen manages, knowing Jared wants an answer but unable to give him much more than that.

"You like it?" Jared presses, not letting him move, not letting him escape any of this.

"Jesus," Jensen's lungs press out of him.

"You can tell me," Jared says, coaxingly, like it's all fucking big of him, and Jensen's face is just aching from how red he is, now.

"Yes," he grinds into Jared's shoulder.

That's it, apparently, for Jared, 'cause he suddenly backs off, leaving Jensen slumped there with a monster hard-on caught awkwardly in the pocket of his jeans. He doesn't dare reach down to adjust it, fix it, doesn't move at all, until Jared commands, "Turn around. Face to the wall."

God, what? Jensen turns into the wall and puts his forehead against it, almost like he'd turned into his own door last night, but this time he feels like he's getting punished, not just toyed with, not just hiding in whatever space he could forge. He doesn't even know what this is or what it's doing to him -- he's so fucking confused.

"Show me," says Jared, then, challenging, like he didn't even believe Jensen before, didn't even feel it for himself.

Slowly, brain still not keeping up, Jensen fumbles at his belt, eyes squeezed shut, breaths caught all hot between his face and the wall of Jared's trailer. His hands don't even know what to do; he scrabbles at the waist of his jeans and underwear, hesitating for a hot second -- 'cause they're on the fucking _set_ of their _show_ \-- and Jared's door is never closed --

"Pull 'em down. Let me see," breathes Jared, and now he's close again, shoving up Dean's shirts until the pit of Jensen's back is naked. Jesus, it's never been so naked. In one quick, obedient shove, Jensen pushes his waistbands down, then holds them there tightly at either side of his thighs. He feels weird and kind of sick and wrong with his ass bared like this, his cock hanging heavy and touching the wall in a perverse lean. He knows Jared can see it, the plug, kinda knows what it looks like from awkwardly trying to look over his own shoulder in his bathroom mirror. What if it's not what Jared wants somehow; what if it's wrong; what if he's seriously gayer than gay at this point; what if J jokes about this a month from now, laughs about it to people when he gets all sloppy-drunk and loud?

After a few moments of staggered panting into the wall, Jensen gets a warm touch, Jared's whole broad palm cupping at his ass, just touching him gently.

 _God, please,_ Jensen's pleading internally, even though he doesn't know what Jared's going to do, what he wants Jared to do or say.

Jared whuffles at his neck. That's what he does. Then he whispers, "I can't believe you did it."

"Jared, I told you I did," Jensen blurts in a rush, desperate. It's the most he's managed to say at all to Jared about it, and he winces against Jared's palm, embarrassed and feeling fucking stupid for this, for everything.

"I know. You said you wore it, I believed you. I just mean -- God, it's so hot. Knowing you've been wearing it, just 'cause I wanted you to. Knowing you're wearing it when I'm talking to you out there -- God," repeats Jared, and his whole palm slides to cover the base of the plug, press it in tight. "It's _in_ you."

The lubed-up neck of it moves in the grip of his ass, and the rest of it sinks deeper, opening him up like fingers, but wider, smoother, reaching in. Jensen flinches against how good it feels, his cock pulsing against the wall that he's trying not to hump into. Not that, not in front of Jared. God, he has no control, wants it so bad. But Jared's hand slides away, lets go totally.

"Pull your underwear back up," Jared says, then, mildly.

"God -- Jared -- please," Jensen gets out, huffing and puffing like they're the hardest words ever to say. This isn't fair at all, none of it is, but he manages to pull his boxers back up, stretching them over the ridiculous bulge of his dick and covering the base of his plug again. He just loses his jeans further down his legs.

Jared's hands touch Jensen's tight shoulders, run down them and squeeze at his biceps. It's right there in his ear, all sensitive: "Yeah? What do you want, Jensen?"

God. Jensen lets out a painful breath, 'cause he's fucking stuck now. He has to answer, but he can't, doesn't know what he wants, 'cause he just -- wants everything, wants whatever Jared wants to give him. It isn't -- it isn't like he can just... ask for... whatever he wants. It doesn't work that way. He doesn't deserve... anything. Especially from Jared.

After a few silent seconds, Jared says, "Need help?"

Whatever the fuck that even means, Jensen nods, suddenly incredibly relieved he's facing the wall, so Jared can't see his face.

"You wanna let me decide for you?" Jared asks, all warm and kind, and even that in its own way is embarrassing, but Jensen nods again, much faster to agree. Jared's hand slides back down to his ass in a comforting slide, like it's a reward, or like he was given permission to touch it again, but that just lasts an instant.

Jared spanks him.

He fucking lifts his hand and brings it back down in a round smack on Jensen's ass cheek, not too hard but hard enough to shock Jensen completely. It's not even the first time he's smacked Jensen's ass, but this time, it's not a playful slap to get a rise out of him or an inspired annoying whack as he passes by. It's _business_ , and there's only underwear between his bare ass and Jared's hand.

"I want you to say 'yes' or 'no' for me, Jensen," Jared says, sounding completely calm and in control, like he spanks people on a daily basis. "Can you do that right now?"

"Okay," Jensen answers stupidly, muffling somehow between his lips and teeth and face pressed into the wall. It's not exactly right, so he fixes it clumsily, needily. "Yes."

"Good," purrs Jared, and he really fucking purrs it, getting all up against Jensen's back and nuzzling into his hair, hand groping and finding Jensen's plug again through the cotton of his boxers. He gives it a push with his fingertips, making it press and slide again. "Does this hurt?"

Jensen whispers, "No." God, it doesn't, no. It's been slipping out a centimeter and then getting shoved back in all day every time he sits on it. He's even kind of used to it now.

"Does it feel good?" Jared gives him another tight press, and another hot on the heels of it.

"Yes."

"Yeah? Does it feel like I'm _fucking_ you with it?"

Jensen's spine jerks in its setting; his hips hump at the wall, giving pressure to the persistent neediness of his prick and making Jared jam him, just jam him full with the plug.

"Yeah," Jensen groans, burning with the realization that that's pretty much exactly what Jared's doing. His plug isn't nearly the size of Jared's huge fucking cock, isn't as long at all, and it moves in only shallow presses, but with Jared behind him, it's so close, it's so easy to let himself feel like Jared is fucking him right into the wall of his trailer.

"Yeah, I am fuckin' you with it," Jared responds, all nasty, lips catching warm and wet on Jensen's ear, behind it, his neck. Jensen's guts are twisting, aching for it, wanting -- "Wish it was my fuckin' cock -- God, I'd put it in you, just like this, slide it in, fuck you all -- fuckin' -- close. Deep. That what you want? You want my cock in your ass?"

 _Jared_ , Jensen's trying to say, but his teeth barely catch each other to form the J, and he just can't take any more of it -- the hard, unforgiving wall his cock's rutting up against, the way Jared's fucking him, riding him right up against that wall, touching inside him. He's letting go in his boxers in hard, hot spurts that catch against the cotton at his left hip and make his balls twitch with every pump.

"God," Jared's groaning, and suddenly, there's his hand, reaching around Jensen to squeeze at his cock through his boxers, big and urgent and milking him mercilessly. Jensen lets out a weird noise, halfway between a bark of surprise and a huff of pain, and Jared says, "Did that make you come?"

Jensen loses it in a gasp, hot-faced and vaguely aware that it wasn't exactly something to be proud of. " _Yes._ "

"Yeah -- oh, yeah, I feel it," Jared whispers, and he rubs his palm warmly over the twitching, sensitive bulge of Jensen's cock, still so full, still pumping pathetic little drips of jizz into the mess in his underwear. Jensen's cock moves, slimy, against his belly. Jared doesn't seem to be thinking about the fact that he's just getting Jensen's boxers all damn wet, soaked and sticky with spunk, or -- maybe he's doing that on _purpose_. Either way, he lets Jared do it for a long minute, shuddering between him and his hand and the wall.

He's still not really recovered when Jared pulls away again; a second later, he straightens dizzily, 'cause Jared is... pulling up his jeans for him, slow and careful, around his hips.

"Keep these on," mutters Jared, and Jensen just fucking knows he's not talking about the jeans.

"I c--" Jensen starts. The words won't come. He finally manages, as Jared buttons him up, "We're... still -- we have another scene..."

"I know," Jared says. "God, fuck. I'm not even gonna be able to look at you without remembering 'bout how you fuckin' creamed yourself -- just thinking about getting fucked. God, Jensen."

Face dully, steadily throbbing with heat, Jensen slowly turns and stares at Jared, because what the fuck, he isn't the one that's going to have to show up in an episode with jizz slopping in his underdrawers. But Jared is totally flushed, too, looking lock-jawed and lip-pinched. Jensen stares, taken aback. Jared's usually so laid-back, goofy, friendly; Jensen even depends on him a lot of the time to be that way, speak up, say hi to fans, handle a reporter who doesn't know squat. Seeing him look so on edge like that puts Jensen abruptly on edge too. For a second, he wonders if Jared's pissed at his lack of self-control -- if he should've said something instead of blowing his wad like that.

Then Jared seems to shake it off, and says, "You gonna do that for me? Wear 'em for the rest of the shoot?"

This whole thing is like a rabbit hole. Jensen just keeps falling, deeper and deeper into it. It's pretty fucking disgusting, wearing these things now, and it's just bound to be gross later, trying to peel them off his skin.

"Yes or no," Jared says.

"Yes," Jensen answers, and drops his eyelids heavily so Jared doesn't see everything he's thinking. _Yes. God. Yeah. Whatever you want. Please. I'll do it._

 

*

 

Apparently, Jared's got yet another round of torture up his sleeve, but Jensen doesn't even know it till he sees that big hand of his gripping Mick's shoulder and hears him say, "Hey, me and Jensen are hangin' tonight, so you wanna just go straight to my place?"

"You got it," Mick says cheerfully.

Jensen just sits there in the back seat, wide-kneed and slumped and gross-feeling, and stares at Jared, who leans back and grabs at his seat belt, not even looking back at him.

 _We're hanging tonight?_ his brain echoes stupidly. It hasn't worked on a normal level since Jared smacked his ass and made him cream his boxers. Did he know that and forget. Did they have plans. Did Jared even ask him.

Jensen doesn't remember it, nor does he really remember shooting their final scene of the day, Sam-why-didn't-you-tell-me; he's sure he must've sucked. God, what the fuck is wrong with him. Kim'll probably see it when he watches the dailies, see how Jensen has nothing in his eyes and hear how rough his voice is, how disconnected he is from whatever he's saying. How he's all plugged up, with his boxers sticking to his own skin, just dully praying the small wet spot that formed through the pocket of his Dean-jeans won't show up.

Still, Jared doesn't give him a glance, instead tossing his bony-ass leg over his knee and asking Mick something about a game, something about when something starts. It's so fucked up that Jensen can't follow it, can't even process it. Why the fuck they're talking about football. Why the fuck Jared is swinging back and forth like he is, one minute intensely focused on him -- to the point where Jensen feels like his skin and heart and entire body are just transparent to Jared's eyes -- he can see everything, see right through him... and then the next minute, Jared's hardly even there with him.

Usually, the ride home will find Jensen checking his messages, maybe calling someone back, talking as readily (if not as airily) as Jared's talking to Mick right then about whatever. He and Jared attack what they want a scene to be, they bitch about special effects shots. It's just a daily part of life, carpooling like this, sometimes with a third party who's at a hotel near Jensen's or something.

But right then, Jensen just doesn't understand it. Every time he moves, he can feel everything Jared's done to him. The plug in his ass, sore like a bruise by now but in such a good way that his guts ache from it, and the awkward semi-goopy, semi-crusty feel of his boxers that are plastered to his belly and leg. Every single second, he can feel them. It's all he can even think about. How come Jared's talking about all this crap? How can he?

He's been to Jared's house before, plenty of times, alone and with others -- the couch and the guest bedroom have both seen his ass overnight on occasion, even when Sandy was there. That's where all this shit started, Jensen dully remembers. Jared's couch. When the van pulls onto Jared's street, he can just feel it, even though he hasn't been paying attention at all, and he looks away from where he was staring at the glowing numbers of the van's radio to watch his house appear before them.

"... should be awesome. Maybe we should do it up right, have a party, all that."

"Sounds like a plan," Mick's agreeing.

What they're talking about now, Jensen doesn't even know -- just... Jared and his _plans._

"All right, dude. Thanks!" The van door's sliding open.

Jensen's body moves, sliding along the seat and following Jared out with a clunk of boots on pavement.

"Thanks, Mick," he's saying. "See you tomorrow."

"Don't you two stay up all night," Mick says warningly.

"Oh, we will," Jared promises, a gleeful irreverence in his voice. He's got his dimples out in spades. "Night, man!"

Jensen salutes him, a force of habit, and follows Jared to his front door. Must've walked up the sidewalk a dozen times, now, if not more, but not while his heart's all weirdly stuck in his throat like this. The headlights flash over them as Mick pulls out of the drive again and rolls down the street, and Jared's unlocking his door, but it's all so silent. There's just the sound of the key in the lock, of wind rustling the trees and Jensen's blood struggling to pump.

The inside of Jared's house is warm and bright, his big-screen TV and huge couch prominent, the walls a warm mocha. Whole house feels like home. Like a hug. It's just warm. There's the high-pitched noise of air whistling in and out Harley's nose, the bump of Sadie against Jensen's thigh. Jensen's taken in by it, becomes part of it, the moment the door shuts behind him. Oh, Jared shut it.

"Hey," Jared says, then, and there's a hand grabbing at Jensen's arm. Jensen trains with weights too, but he still swears Jared's whole hand is fitting around his arm with its warm but demanding grip. He looks up and finds himself in Jared's eyes, finally, _finally_. "You okay?"

Jensen nods, but after a moment, he realizes he's shaking his head instead, dizzy, eyelids falling shut.

There's a second's pause, like maybe Jared's concerned or at least confused, but then he says, firmly, in a voice no one but Jensen can hear. "Jensen. Golden Rule. Are you all right?"

Words for no one but him.

"What do I do?" Jensen asks, his voice rasping in his throat like it's been beaten raw and is afraid to come out. "What -- what do you want me to do?"

Jared's other hand closes around his bicep like he's bracing Jensen there in front of him, and Jensen can feel him looking, staring, and it's like he's naked, with nothing left to hide. His eyes drop; he can barely even look at Jared's chest -- even seeing his button-up and the white t-shirt he's wearing under it almost hurts, he wants everything in front of him so bad. Knows he can't have it. Not really.

"I'll do whatever you want," he says shakily.

He sways, then, because there's another heavy bump of a dog against his leg; the dogs are milling around them restlessly, and Sadie's rearing up to put her paws on Jared's hip like she wants to join the conversation.

"Is that what you want?" Jared asks, slow but firm, like he's finally hearing him. "You still want me to decide for you?"

"Whatever you want," Jensen repeats in a whisper.

Jared's hands both give him a squeeze, and Jensen has the sensation of being steadied.

"Look at me," Jared says, and Jensen raises his chin so he can look Jared in the face again. Just letting Jared see his eyes feels like his soul is splitting open for Jared to rummage through. Jared's mouth is set, and his eyes pin him there for a moment. Then Jared says, "I want you to answer me 'yes' or 'no' out loud. And go to my room. Take your clothes off. Then bend over on my bed. Feet on the floor. When I come in, I want to see your plug. Got it?"

Jensen stares. Now he has no idea how he could've ever looked away, not been able to look at Jared; he's -- 

"Yes," Jensen gets out.

"Go do it."

Jensen does.

 

*

 

He's been in Jared's room, but never in Jared's bed before. That was kind of sacred or something until recently, just something they never, ever even touched. It's huge, of course, because Jared's pretty huge. A half-assed attempt at making it is obvious, the bedspread pulled up, but not particularly neatly. Jensen goes right to it, walking till his knees hit the mattress, stares down at it. Jared's bed. Where he sleeps. Every night. The bedroom lights are off, but there's a bright street light outside shining through the blinds, seeming to illuminate it, lighting up the glass panels of the pictures hanging over Jared's bed, reflecting off the blank face of a TV.

He gets out of his clothes, as weirdly clumsy in the lack of attention he's paying to the task as he was when he got dressed that morning, focus stuck on Jared's bed. He can't even see anything else.

Shirt off, down his arms, falling from his fingertips. Jeans down; didn't think this through. Has to yank the laces on his boots and struggle out of them and his jeans. His socks. His underwear is completely stuck to his hip on one side. It peels off reluctantly, grossly, totally uncomfortably, pubes sticking to the fabric. It's just caked on his boxers, spread in a thin, itchy layer over his skin. It's fucking disgusting, but Jensen leaves it alone -- Jared didn't say to wash it off -- and tips himself over face-first into Jared's bed, bending at the waist.

The bedding smells just like him, so much like him -- whatever soap he uses, whatever detergent, the smell of his skin, God. Jensen stuffs his face into it, breathing it in as best he can, both hands fisting it, hips uneasy on the very edge of the mattress. He can't hear anything outside of the roar of his own blood, the beat his heart is pounding into his eardrums.

Jared leaves him there, alone, just long enough for Jensen to slowly start to catch his breath and come into himself. He's just actually fully realizing how naked he is and how ridiculous his position is right when the bedroom door finally opens, letting light spill in from the hallway all across Jensen's legs, his back, his ass with that plug sitting in it.

Catching his breath and feeling his face flush, Jensen tenses, spreads his legs a little, 'cause he knows what Jared wants to see, and that makes him want Jared to see it right there in him, untouched since Jared fucked him with it.

After a moment, the bedroom door shuts again, and it's quiet -- Jared must've fed his dogs, taken them outside, given them belly-rubs. And now it's Jensen's turn.

"All bent over," husks Jared from somewhere behind him.

Jensen turns his face, the air cool on it compared to the covers he'd warmed, and breathes out, "Yeah," _just like you told me to. What you wanted._

Jared seems to meander there behind him, and without picking his head up to look, all Jensen can surmise in the semi-darkness is that Jared is looking at him. He can feel Jared nearby. After a moment, something lightly lands on the mattress near Jensen's face, and he picks his head up to look without thinking.

"What's that?" Jared asks him.

Oh, Jesus. God. Heat punches Jensen in the face so hard he can't hold his head up anymore; it flumps back down and he closes his eyes.

"My boxers," he manages.

"What's that all over 'em?"

His fingers tighten in their fists, clenching at Jared's bedspread like it's the only thing anchoring him, keeping him from disintegrating, burning away.

"Come," he whispers, hollow.

"Whose come."

"... Mine. My come."

"Yeah. Covered in your come... from when you came earlier, huh?" Jared asks, sounding like he's someone's teacher, and this is all a big academic discussion. "You kept 'em on for me, didn't you. 'Cause I told you to. Even though they were all wet. Didn't change."

"Yes."

"That's good. That's good, Jensen," Jared says, inciting an inexplicable riot in Jensen's chest. His heart twists with pleasure, his guts flex, his cock pushes -- harder. God, he's hard, and he doesn't even know how long he's been hard. Maybe since the second Jared walked into the room. Maybe the second he'd smelled Jared, all over his bedspread.

There's a pause, then, one that just ticks on until Jensen starts to wriggle uncomfortably. It's just so silent, which is weird for Jared, and he can't see him, has no idea what he's thinking, what he's _doing_ \--

Then there's a hand on his spine, hushing him, holding him still, big and flattened.

"I'm gonna take your plug out," Jared tells him, then, and moves both hands to grasp Jensen above the hipbones. Jensen pushes his face into the bedspread and lets out a rattling breath, the tension in his body not wanting to let go of the air. "Yeah, you need that plug out, huh, Jensen," Jared says, so sympathetically that Jensen simultaneously wants to punch him in the face, die of humiliation, and just rut against Jared's bedspread till he's coming again, the muscle memory of Jared pushing that plug in -- of his cock -- so overwhelming that he can feel it already. " _Yeah_ , you do," Jared's sighing, his thumbs tucking under Jensen's ass cheeks and pushing them apart easily. "God, 's in you... 's been stuck up in your ass for me _all day_."

"Yeah," Jensen grunts into the bedspread. His ears are practically ringing just remembering showing it to Jared in the trailer -- now he's looking at it, really, right at it, pulling him apart to see it. He can see Jensen's done what he's been told to do, how good Jensen's tried to be for him, how much he wants to do everything right. How much he wants Jared.

His insides grip around the plug selfishly when Jared gives it a gentle pull, his ass not wanting to let it go, his ass just wanting to keep it inside, feel it inside. It's harder to get out than it is to get in, and with a groan, Jensen tries to help push it out. After a moment he feels it pop through the tight grip of his hole and slide out from inside him, wet, seeming long and slick even though it's half the size of Jared's dick.

"Oh my God," Jared mutters openly, and Jensen knows -- knows he's all wet, that it's left the insides of his ass cheeks shining with lube. His thighs are going to start shaking with how much he knows that.

"Jared," he whispers, flat and rough and helpless.

"What? You need somethin'?" Jared asks him, ruthlessly gentle, one hand returning with wet fingertips and sliding along his hip.

God. Dammit. _Please. Please don't do this to me._

"Please," he tries, hating it as it grinds out of his throat.

"You can say it," Jared tells him. "You can say it."

But even with Jared's thumb sliding on his skin, opening him, pushing his ass cheeks apart and slipping promisingly over the swollen-feeling, bruise-sensitive, ruined pucker of his hole, Jensen can't, he can't. He's said it before, but that was different, that was when they were friends, just _friends_. They didn't even kiss.

 _Dude, careful with that thing, you'll poke my friggin' eye out. I'll be wearing an eyepatch and shit_ , he'd complained merrily, drunk and horny, and _Ow_ , and _no, I got it, I got it_ , and _yeah, yeah, I -- yeah, I think so_ , and _oh Jesus. Yeah, keep -- yeah, fuck me. Yeah, man, do it, fuck me. Jus' like that._

And they were still friends after.

That just wasn't like this. Even with Jared's huge form overpowering him and Jared's gigantic fucking dick crammed all sweet and hard up his ass, he'd had it under control, encouraged him, talked him off as easy as he joked with him. Now the words were too twisted inside him, too real. They were really his, not ones he was recklessly hurling at Jared.

Behind him, Jared sighs, but it sounds heated more than it sounds annoyed.

"Why're you so fuckin' _shy_ ," he presses. "You need me t'make you say it? I'll make you say it. Say you want me to fuck you."

"I want you to," chokes Jensen.

"Yeah?" There's the sudden slide of something satiny and hot between his cheeks, and Jensen's head jerks up off the mattress all at once. It's Jared's cock. 

Jesus Christ, it's his cock, just right there, stiff and slipping along the crack of his ass, so close, so _bare_. Jensen didn't even know he had his clothes off, or his pants down, or what the fuck ever.

"Feel that?" Jared asks him, on the edge of a moan. "Been poppin' hard-ons all day, Jensen -- wanna fuck you so bad. Wanted to since I gave you the plug. So bad. Wanted to fuck you earlier, fuck your ass right up against the wall -- was so fuckin' hard just thinkin' 'bout how you're wearin' it, _ready_ for me..."

Jensen shudders, his cock torturously jerking against Jared's bedspread, thighs rigid, ass cheeks flexing against Jared's thumbs, against the weight of his cock.

"You ready for me? Your ass all fuckin' ready for this?" Jared groans, Jensen's " _Yes_ ," practically whimpered under the husk of his voice. "Yeah?"

"Yes -- God, yes, please," Jensen spits out, his brain beaten to a bloody pulp, hardly even feeling like himself under Jared's hands, _in_ Jared's hands, or maybe more like himself than ever. "Please, Jared. Please, Jared, please."

"Want me to fuck you?" Jared repeats, like he's just fucking playing with Jensen, stringing him out, dangling something he can never have right in front of him, wearing him to threads. "Need my cock in there, huh. Tell me what you want, Jensen. I'm makin' you say it."

"Need you to fuck me," blusters Jensen, broken loose.

"Yeah."

And this time, it isn't a question; Jared's cock is sliding true and opening him wide around it, not just sliding teasingly up towards the pit of his back. Jensen's chest hitches, 'cause he remembers how big it fucking is all of a sudden, with just the knob of it swelling and stretching him. There's the _wrong_ sensation of something pressing up into him, and the satisfying ache as Jared fills him, moving deliberately, steadily. Jensen's way more prepared than he's ever been before, wet inside, held open, muscles expectant; his eyes fucking cross with how suddenly full he is of Jared, how deep Jared's dick hits in his guts and how much bigger he actually is than that plug.

"God..."

Jared gasps for a minute, just gasps, and Jensen barely moves, hardly breathing, holding his insides still against the urge to flex and squeeze all around Jared's cock. He's still clawing Jared's bedspread into his fists, and his hips are flattened by Jared's weight right against the edge of the mattress, cock cradled between it and his stomach, a steady hot throb.

"'M so fuckin' deep in you already," Jared groans, then, as if in disbelief. "Jesus."

He grinds his hips against Jensen's, and they're totally melded together, skin rubbing feverish and sweaty, Jared's pubes in his crack this invasive rasp on oversensitive skin, the push of his cock nudging into the fucking pit of Jensen's stomach, or so it feels. He can't even say anything -- can't work his lungs. He's just barely held together all around Jared's cock.

The first pull of Jared's hips drags him out, wet, Jensen's insides all clinging to him, and from there, Jensen's brain just ceases to function at all. The only thing he can do is feel the rhythm of Jared fucking him against that perilous edge, his lungs held so tight that he can't get any air, can't make a noise, and he has no idea how long it is but it seems like he's starting to go rigid with coming within a split second.

"Jared," he gapes noiselessly, all thrust up in alarm. "Can I. Can I. Please --"

It's barely passed through his teeth when it's too late; his balls are jerking against the mattress where Jared's hips are rubbing him and he's coming all over Jared's bedspread, hot gouts that just get trapped and smeared beneath his stomach.

"God! Did you come again?" Jared demands, slapping a hand down on Jensen's back --

Which just makes Jensen lose it even harder, a burn of embarrassment making the feel of squishing against his own hot, slippery jizz even more intense and disgusting.

"'M sorry," Jensen gasps, but Jared's hand just slides down his back to squeeze at his ass, just gives him this shove that has him crawling awkwardly up onto his knees on the mattress. Jared following close behind, pushing him onwards and down onto his belly again.

"God, you can't help it, can you," Jared's growling, like he's cussing, gritting out these dirty things. He flattens Jensen to the mattress with his entire body, his chest burning against Jensen's spine. Jensen wants to jerk against the mattress -- his cock's sensitive, still pulsing even though he's shot off everything he had left -- but he can hardly move as Jared's hips snap punishingly against his ass. "You fuckin' love wearin' that plug for me, don'tcha."

" _Jar_ -ed," Jensen huffs, overheated.

"Love you wearin' it for me," Jared presses on, his nose right against the back of Jensen's neck, rubbing at the scruff of his hair. "You fuckin' know how hot that makes me? That nobody fuckin' knows you're wearin' it when they look at you, but I know it, I can see it, see you're mine, all day, every day --"

Jensen's jaw works against the bedspread, his eyes squeezing shut tight. "'M yours?"

" _Yeah_ ," Jared hisses in his ear, his breaths a roar. "Yeah. You're mine. You're all mine, Jensen. Aren't you?"

After a severe second, Jared seems to automatically know that Jensen can't -- won't -- answer.

"God. Tell me you're not that bitch's! _Tell_ me you're mine --" Jared starts, then buries his face in Jensen's shoulder and roils against him, hipbones harsh. A weirdly wet shudder makes its way up Jensen's back. He can hear Jared's breaths stuttering as well as he can feel each pulse of Jared's cock and realizes he's coming -- like, right then, right there, in Jensen.

The first and second times they fucked, they used condoms, not even thinking about it, both of them so accustomed to it. The third and fourth times, after it had started to make itself obvious that they were both clean -- that they weren't doing anyone else without protection -- and no one was gonna get knocked up, they went bare and it was fucking amazing, and Jared gasped and blurted, _I'm gonna come_ \-- and they pulled themselves apart awkwardly so he could, over his own fist, up his own stomach.

Jensen doesn't even... know what to _do_. He can't really feel it, except for maybe the vaguest pushing of his insides having to find room for it, but it still instantly makes him feel wet, slimy, full.

After a few seconds, Jared says, stricken, "Oh, Jesus. Jensen. I'm --" 

"'S okay," murmurs Jensen, throat thick, and as his fists start to ache like hell, he finally loosens his hold on the blanket, his whole body seeming to crumble along with it.

"I'm sorry," Jared wheezes. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean t--"

The sweaty feel of Jared's forehead on his neck; the loose and tentative press of lips to his back.

"'M sorry," he mutters again, with a note of finality, and lets out a long breath that Jensen can feel all along his shoulders. He's even sweatier than he thought.

"'S awright," Jensen says to the mattress. It doesn't even feel like his voice. He isn't even... remotely together, and can't seem to pull himself to that point. Can't seem to pretend anymore, at least right then, and it feels weird to even speak with Jared's cock still in him, his muscles pried open and caught all around it; Jared's load in there, threatening to slip out.

"You just -- I just..." Jared trails off uselessly, not seeming to be able to scrape together what he's trying to say. Then he opts for, "Should I move? ... Jensen? Should I move?"

"Naw," whispers Jensen. "Not... not yet."

Jared sighs happily. "Was hopin' you'd say that."

 

*

 

When Jensen wakes, the world is white-washed away, and Jared's voice is coming from some distant place.

"... up anytime soon?"

Through his lashes, he focuses blearily on curtains that are thrown wide open to the unbelievably bright morning sun. His eyes feel raw, sticky. He fell asleep with his contacts in.

"Huh?" he grunts, dropping his eyelids again and thumbing at them one by one, massaging the lenses back in place.

"Just wondering if you're gonna sleep all day, or what," says Jared, too perky-sounding for his own good.

Oh, Jesus, it all comes to him at once, the reality of morning; he's at Jared's, in his bed, naked. He didn't even clean up, and now that he's waking up, he can feel the backs of his thighs, the insides of them, all gummy and disgusting. God, gross -- but still, he slept so heavily he didn't even hear or feel it when Jared got up.

"Time is it?" Jensen asks, voice stuck gruff. There's a sheet barely tugged up around his waist, for which he's grateful, although actually, it may be stuck to one of his ass cheeks. He glances around blearily. Jared's room looks totally different in the morning than he's ever seen it, big and bright, an acoustic guitar leaning in a corner, a hamper overflowing with shirts he recognizes by the dresser. It looks lived-in and messy, feels comfortable.

"Eight-thirty! You got like half an hour."

The bed bounces, bumping Jensen as if to wake him further. He turns his face and peers with slightly burning eyes over at Jared, who's dropped himself onto the bed beside him, wearing a thin white t-shirt and his running pants. His skin's sweaty, gleaming and pink in the sunlight, and a drop of sweat's rolling down his sideburn. Jensen watches him pull off one running shoe, then the other, peel off his socks. His muscles all flex as he jerks his shirt up and off. His hair flops everywhere.

The pillow absorbs the breath Jensen lets out.

Thoughts he didn't have room in his brain for last night are attacking him now. Is he in Sandy's place -- is this where she used to sleep when she was here? Did she wake up to Jared huffing and puffing and smelling like gym socks and dog toys? Did she look at him with eyes that hurt, with lungs that constricted of their own accord? The mattress shifts from being the most comfortable thing he's ever felt to unfriendly beneath him in an instant.

Jared twists at the waist to give Jensen a playful slap with his t-shirt, soft sweaty cotton clapping against his ass. "Dude, you awake?"

"You reek," Jensen mutters, wrinkling his nose theatrically. Did Jared ever talk to Sandy, or _any_ girl, like he talks to Jensen? Does he smack everyone's ass, or is Jensen just special?

"Do I smell like dog?" Jared asks, grinning big.

"Amongst other things."

"Yeah, well, I can still smell come all over you!"

It's cheery -- downright teasing -- but it still makes Jensen wrench at his pillow and attempt to thwack Jared with it.

"C'mon, let's shower," Jared suggests, grabbing his pillow from Jensen's fist and giving him a light whap. On the ass. Again.

"Go do it already," Jensen commands. "And don't stay in there forever."

Sighing, Jared tosses the pillow down and shoves himself up off the bed with a bounce just as big as the one he made when he landed. He doesn't head towards his bathroom, though. He just circles the bed and stands there by Jensen for a second, looking down at him, his sweaty hair shining in the sunlight.

"Dude," he says reproachfully, "c'mon! What am I gonna have to do to get you in there with me? Drag you in there on a leash?"

Big hands whip down the sheet draped across Jensen's back before he can even think to grab at it. Fucking great. Jensen grits his teeth and shoves his fist at Jared, landing on his thigh, but not with enough force to get Jared to back off. Just great. Eight-thirty in the morning and he's already got in a heaping helping of total humiliation, what with the way his jizz-streaked ass and legs are totally bared and Jared can probably see every individual streak of come he leaked all night smeared on his thighs.

He flexes his jaw, clenching it tight, until Jared gets the point and leaves him alone with the various pieces of his dignity harshly lit up and disheveled on the floor all around him.

Jensen always feels vaguely unsettled like this after they fuck. He's more rattled by his own desires, and the way he feels scared when he lets go and feels them full-force, than anything Jared's ever done to him. But he can usually push it all away. He can play it off, forget about it fast. Be Jared's friend again when they've caught their breaths.

But he's never had Jared's wad dripping out of his ass all night. They've never fucked like _that_. He doesn't think he's ever begged for anything in his life like he's been begging Jared these last couple of insane days.

"All right," booms Jared, tearing Jensen from the clench of confusion and embarrassment he's worked himself into. He's got a loop of cord in one hand, and a --

No, wait, that's not cord, that's a strap -- a leather strap with buckle, like a belt.

"This was Sadie's," Jared says crisply, rounding the bed with Jensen's stare following him the whole way. The veins in his arms are all standing out, and his grip on the stuff just making them all the more obvious. "She outgrew it, but I kept it just in case."

In case of _what_ , Jensen wants to demand, but he just stares, stuck there on his belly like a moron, craning to see the thing in Jared's hand. Several loops. A dog collar, nice but obviously used and abused, each hole of it punctured through, and a seemingly lengthy...

Leash. He knows it's a leash.

Jesus Christ, Jared wasn't joking, which is so bizarre that he isn't even totally sure it's not a joke.

"Sit up," Jared encourages.

He isn't serious.

He isn't _serious_.

Barely able to feel his own limbs, Jensen slowly pushes himself up, swivels his legs off the side of the bed.

After a pause, Jared huffs out something like a laugh and steps in, slipping the collar around Jensen's neck with the confidence of someone who's fastened a fair few of them in his life.

"If you like this as much as the plug, I'll get you your own collar," he says, sounding extremely pleased. "One that'll be just yours."

Jensen feels a pressure against his Adam's apple, feels and hears Jared's fingers working the buckle. He blurts, before the thing's even secure, "Dude. What am I, like -- your new pet now, or something?"

Jared stops, thumbs tense on either side of Jensen's neck, but it's only for a moment. Then he's sliding the remainder of the belt through its loop. The collar is ridiculous there around his neck, too big. Jared must not've done it up to the tightest notch, or maybe Sadie wasn't a whole lot smaller when she wore this thing.

"Naw," he says, gentle. "You're still you. You're just..."

The leash hooks onto the collar with a metallic click, and Jared's thumb catches at it, his fist holding Jensen by the leash, by the neck. Jensen can't look up, even though his neck feels the cue: _Come on._

"Now you're with someone who wants you. You don't seem to realize that I -- that you're not -- Jensen, I know you're not happy with her. I _know_ you're not. You can't stay with her just because any more than I could -- do that. To anyone. I mean, you don't even seem to think I want you, even though I keep tryin' to tell you. Show you. Are you that shy and I just don't know it? Or do you think I'm just messin' with you, or something? Well, I'm not. I'm not. I'm gonna prove it to you. I wanna... have you. Want you to be mine. More than you're hers."

The words just make Jensen's chest catch. He feels weird all of a sudden, like he's not even in Jared's bedroom anymore. He's oddly weightless and can't feel anything except Jared's hand at his collar and the way it's clasping him around the back of the neck, sturdy. It's like he's having an out-of-body experience. How could Jared even know any of that -- how could anyone know so much about him? Somehow understand that much about him, more than his mom does, or he himself even does.

"Golden Rule," Jared says. Leash in hand. Patient. "I want you to say it for me. And mean it -- I want you to mean it. Don't get shy on me. You're doin' this with me, right? You're... you know, I mean. You're mine, aren't you?"

Well, Jesus, Jared. Like the collar, leash, butt plug, jizzed up boxers, and come streaked on his ass isn't enough of an answer.

"Yeah," he utters, throaty. "Yes."

Jared's looking at him closely, Jensen knows, but all he can see is sunlight. 

 

*

 

It takes Jared a couple of hours to notice. You'd think he'd be fine-tuned, at this point, but as he heads toward Jensen, he slows to a complete halt with his arm full of his lunch and stands there.

"What's up?" Jensen asks, casually nursing on his coffee.

Jared casts a furtive look toward the nearest grip, then ambles on over, taking his seat next to Jensen in their chairs, as always -- his knees knocking into Jensen's, as always. His lunch three times the size of Jensen's, his presence overtaking. There's not enough room for all his elbows and babbling. All as per usual.

"Uh, so," Jared says lowly, mindful of his voice. He fumbles with his styrofoam box, popping it open after a couple of epic fail attempts. "Are you sittin' like that 'cause... you're, uh, wearin' it again today, or... uh, 'cause..."

"What do you think?" Jensen returns.

A couple of sound guys pass by, loudly talking about lunch, and dude. It's a normal day on set. Jensen fights down the grin as he digs into his rice, and Jared just sits there, seeming at a loss with all this food on his wide lap.

"You gonna eat that?" prods Jensen.

"Dude. I hate you," Jared breathes delightedly, staring at Jensen with intense eyes. "You got any idea how hard it's gonna be for me to do this exorcism scene now?"

"Mm-hmm. 'Specially if you take into consideration how I know you're gonna leash my ass the second we get home," Jensen says, and smiles, batting his lashes a few times in an unsympathetic manner.

Jared groans softly. "Oh, I hate you." He slides lower in his seat in a pathetic way, which just throws his knees even wider open, then catches himself. "Wait, did you say 'home'?"


End file.
